


explosion uncontained

by peachyteabuck



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dom/sub, F/F, F/M, Multi, Orgasm Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 06:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19435894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachyteabuck/pseuds/peachyteabuck
Summary: Bad news is Bucky fucked up big time and now you’re seriously injured. Good news is Natasha knows the perfect way to apologize.





	explosion uncontained

**Author's Note:**

> This was done for @lesbian-deadpool ‘s pride parade challenge. My prompt was “Please don’t threaten me with a knife. I’ll get horny” and has been bolded within the fic!!

Bucky Barnes has fucked up. Bucky Barnes has not only fucked up, but he has also been the root cause of a sizable gash in your right shoulder and an entire patch of skin being burned off that starts at your left calf and curls around you until it reaches your belly button.

He knows this. He knew this before the bomb blew up, and he certainly knows this now, as Natasha paces around their shared room and chews off chunks of skin from her bottom lip.

“You fucking dumbass!” She yells. “You knew you were defying orders, but no! Of course, you had to be the fucking hero.” She pauses to sigh before going back to her incessant movements. “And now you’ve injured the best fucking hacker we have. Do you know how much political capital I had to burn to get her out there with us?”

Natasha’s teeth are barred, eyes firey and skin red from lack of oxygen. Bucky’s never seen her this pissed, and he’s terrified. And a little hard. But mostly terrified.

“I’m so sorry,” He tries to reconcile. “I didn’t-”

It doesn’t work, and before he can finish his thought Natasha’s got the sharpened dagger she keeps strapped to her thigh and points at the center of his chest with her free hand pressed into the back of his head.

Bucky smirks despite how much he knows he’s about to get his ass beat. “ ** _Please don’t threaten me with a knife. I’ll get horny_**.”

Despite herself, Natasha openly laughs. “As if you’re not hard already.”

There’s a beat of silence before she goes back to scowling at the love of your life. Bucky gulps as he notices her face changing from amused to enraged.

“You’re a fucking dumbass if you think I’m dumb ass enough to believe that bullshit,” she sighs with the knife pointed to Bucky’s chest. She doesn’t know whether she’s exhausted herself after, what, more than five hours of screaming post-five day non-stop mission? or just needs a break. “I’m going to check up on her.” Bucky stands, but sits back down once he sees Natasha’s glare. “You stay here, and don’t move a fucking muscle.”

Natasha finds you easily in the large hospital wing- you’re the only patient without a single attendant. Her heart almost stops, thinking that between when they had arrived and that very moment your heart had stopped beating and your skin had gone cold. As she gets closer, though, she sees you’re awake and doing something on your laptop. She watches you for a second as you silently and furiously pluck strings of code together, trying to figure out exactly what you’re typing and how your eyes move back and forth so fast.

A crash from a room far away breaks the spell. You both look over to see what’s wrong (turns out, nothing), and you spot her as she goes closer to the curtain. Still, you don’t speak until she’s seated next to you and taking a bite out of your uneaten grilled cheese.

“So, what brings you down to these parts of town?”

She shrugs, ignoring your bad joke in favor of another bite. “Just wanted to check up on you.”

You laugh a little, just a sharp exhale through your nostril. Still, you wince in pain. Natasha notices but doesn’t comment. “Ya know, exactly as well as one can hope after having a bomb explode in your face.”

She takes a look at your vital signs, _all good_ , before answering. “Yeah, I mean…” a pause. The quiet air seems heavy as she rubs her eyebrows. “I still don’t know how to apologize. Barnes made the wrong call, and he was totally in the wrong, but-”

“Then why isn’t _he_ apologizing to me?”

Natasha hasn’t spent much time with you, and has a hard time knowing when you’re joking or not. Your sense of humor is even drier than hers, but she can sense a hint of mischief behind your eyes as you stare her down.

“I made him stay in our room.”

“Like a child? Is he in time out or something?”

“If he’s gonna act like one, I’m gonna treat him like one.”

“Except when it comes to holding him accountable for his actions…”

She laughs outwardly now. “Oh, trust me. He’s going to apologize.”

You close your laptop and push the tray attached to the uncomfortable hospital bed. Carefully you fold your body and lean to the side. At a few points the burn rubs into the sheets the wrong way or “And how is he going to do that?”

Natasha’s caught on now. She relaxes into the plastic chair, failing to hide her displeasure at the high-pitched noise it makes as she places both feet on top of the blanket obviously taken from your own apartment. It’s thick with fringe, a desert scene woven onto it. The mix of warm colors seems to reflect your wit, sparks running across your skin with every sarcastic comeback and cheap dig. It stands out against the drab, gray-blue of the room, almost as bold as you.

“I don’t know, we’ll figure something out,” she smirks. “Trust me, I can handle him.”

“Can,” you ask, firmly meeting her piercing gaze with your own. “Or will?”

Natasha smiles wider than Tennessee. “Will.”

You’re discharged about a month later, the burn being more serious than initially guessed and the lung damage causing you to wake up in the middle of the night not being able to breathe multiple times. You still have trouble going up stairs and standing up for long periods of time, and the burns still hurts like hell, and the gash in your shoulder won’t allow you to carry a backpack or sit up without pain, but at least you were cleared to be out on your own again. It’s nice, to say the least. Being in a place without privacy isn’t something you particularly like, and being at the whim of nurses and doctors doesn’t please you all that much either.

Still, it’s almost nice to see someone right as you’re about to leave with your heavy duffel bag and your equally heavy backpack. It’s less nice when you realize it’s the reason you were in the hospital in the first place.

Before you can tell him to fuck off, though, he immediately starts spewing any apology can think of.

“I understand what I did was wrong and I’m _so so so so_ sorry and I haven’t stopped thinking about how I literally put you out of work for a month and _yes_ Tony _did_ yell at me about his best hacker not being able to work and I’m still _so_ sorry and Natasha yelled at me in _four different languages_ and I’m pretty sure one of them was Latin and please I just want to help you bring up your stuff because it’s the least I can do and-” he pauses to inhale, lungs starved of oxygen - similar to you being starved of the sweet, sweet silence of being alone. You feel it’s easier to just let him help you, let him take up your heavy crap and then tell him to fuck off until you have to explain something tech-y to him in a meeting.

You shrug, dropping your duffel bag on the ground and handing him the backpack. He carefully grabs both of them and silently follows you into the elevator, leaning against the back wall as you push the button corresponding to your floor and lean against the wall. The jagged wound doesn’t feel as bad as when you got it, but you still let out a small groan when it hits the cold material.

Bucky, desperate to relieve you of all the pain you’ve ever felt and will ever feel, tries to start a conversation. “So, the high thirties. That’s what, the section for the computer nerds?”

You almost make a joke about being able to turn on a laptop not making you a computer nerd, but you laughing too much would hurt and might cause you to have a coughing fit, which Bucky would have to save you from and then you’d be in debt to him.

“Yeah, computer science-related stuff,” you sigh, wincing a little. “Heads of computer science-stuff actually. Statistics, data-analysis, computer science.”

The rest of the ride to your apartment is quiet, almost painfully so. Each time you try to start a conversation Bucky seems to avoid answering with more than a few words, his eyes never meeting your own.

Still, he follows dutifully into your bedroom where you fall short of instructing him to place your things across from your messy bed – your vocal cords unable to move as you spy the most beautiful woman you’ve ever met in front of you.

You don’t know what to say when you see Natasha leaning on your desk, staring at your knick-knacks and loose papers. For some reason you almost offer her a cup of tea.

“Now, James here,” she gestures to the man behind you, who has since placed your bag gingerly on your bed and is now standing awkwardly in the middle of your bedroom. “Has to find some way to make up for his horrendous mistake back during the mission.”

You gulp and fidget with your hands as you speak. “It’s fine, really, I’m o-“

Natasha removes one hand from her dress pants and holds it up to stop you. “No, it is not okay. I don’t like to leave the mistakes I’m responsible for,” she glares at Bucky, who you do not see but still know is cowering like a puppy whose peed on the carpet. “Left uncleaned. I request that you meet Bucky and I in our apartment tonight after my meeting with the Secretary of State. Say, about eight?”

You nod, mouth too dry to form speech.

Natasha smiles, walking behind you and wrapping a possessive arm around Bucky’s middle. “Perfect, see you then.”

And not with a shout, but with a whisper, they are both gone.

At 7:58:36 you find yourself dressed in the easiest thing to slip on without _too_ much pain – a large t-shirt and some athletic shorts you’ve had since you played volleyball in college – standing in front of the door to Natasha and Bucky’s shared apartment.

Right before you can knock your phone buzzes with a text, one from Natasha that tells you the door is unlocked and that she and Bucky are just in the bedroom.

With that, you take a deep breath, and step inside.

Bucky’s kneeling with his upper half hunched forward and his hands tied behind his back. The only thing keeping him in such an uncomfortable position being Natasha’s heel pressed into the small of his spine.

“Now,” she begins to tell them. You’re sitting on the edge of their large bed, hands already twisting in the sheets. Maybe it’s nervousness, maybe it’s anticipation, maybe it’s fear. Something flutters in your chest at the curve of Natasha’s lips around her words, of her bare face vulnerable and her messy bun falling with every movements of her jaw. “Bucky here needs to apologize,” she looks down at him with a playful smile. “Don’t you baby.”

“Yes, Mommy,” he says immediately.

Natasha pushes down harder onto him, a painful position as his body as nearly folded in half by the woman he loves the most. “Now,” she moves her foot so that it’s pushing on his ass. “Go tell our friend here that you’re sorry.”

She undoes the binds on Bucky’s hands with the heel of her red-bottoms, the cherry-red ropes falling to the ground in total silence.

You suck in a breath as Bucky shifts to begin crawling the what feels like mile-long clearance between where you’ve sat down on the edge of the king-sized bed and the throne-like seat where Natasha has chosen to seat herself. His head is hung and he avoids eye contact, staring at the floor instead. It’s than that you notice he’s wearing a collar – a thick, matte leather one, _BABY_ embroidered in thick, grey lettering just above an o-ring.

For the moments between when Bucky stops in front of you and when he spreads your bruised knees, some part of your brain tries to convince the rest of it that you have no idea what is going on. You have no idea what to think, what to do. That the pair of them have all of this messed up, that they misread any body language you’d contorted yourself into. It pleads like a petulant child for you to call the whole thing off, to tender your resignation and run off to some Eastern European country where no one would bother trying to find you.

But every temper tantrum has its end, and this particular one seems to be when Bucky’s lips kiss at the bottom hem of your shorts. The room falls into silence as Natasha watches him with eyes wide with lust and your neurotransmitters catch up to your hands running through his thick hair.

“Go ahead, baby,” Natasha says – still in her position on her large chair. “Start your apology.”

Bucky spreads your legs that with a touch that contrasts the rough callouses of his right hand and the tough vibranium of his left. He pushes your panties to the side and sinks a single, metal finger into your tight pussy.

You moan and fall back onto the thick bedding as Bucky wraps his plush lips around your clit.

He’s good at this, much better than you’ve ever had before, and it surprises you. Each nerve in your body feels like a livewire as he slips one finger, and then one more, into your dripping pussy. As he finds that special spot in you your eyes shoot open ( _when did you close them?)_ and see Natasha, still sitting across from you, with one hand holding her dress up and the other lazily circling her clit.

You collapse onto the bed with your third orgasm of the night, barely able to catch your breath before Natasha’s instructing Bucky to get up on the bed with you. For a moment you have no idea what you’re supposed to do, not understanding until Bucky’s flat on his back and Natasha’s gingerly running her fingers up and down his length. It’s then that the glint of metal around the base of his cock catches your eye, shining in the low lights of the bedroom. _Wow, Natasha really is into this punishment stuff, isn’t she._

“I’m going to have you ride this little slut, now. Are you okay with that?”

Natasha asks this as if it isn’t what you’ve wanted since you were hired at Stark Industries, as if somehow she doesn’t know exactly what you want.

You sink onto Bucky’s cock, moaning as his thickness fills you in a way you’ve never felt before. Deep guttural moans you think may have come from you fill the room as you chase your own pleasure, slamming up and down on the fattest dick you’ve ever taken.

Bucky whimpers as you ride him, face beet-red with eyes scrunched and jaw slack. Each breath comes out in pants, and bits of his dark brown hair stick to his sweaty forehead. Frankly he looks adorable, hands flexing as he aches to touch you.

As you chase your own release Bucky’s fingers ghost over where your legs bend for purchase on the large bed, but soon are slapped away with a _tsk_ from Natasha.

“If you want to touch, _slut,”_ she hisses as she pinches at Bucky’s sensitive nipples. He cries out in pain, curling towards her as the sharp pain spreads through his body. “You need to _ask.”_

Bucky seems too far gone for that now, though, any noises slipping past his lips far from meeting the standard of spoken language. Still, Natasha seems to take pity on him, and gives him permission to grab at your hips and cup your breasts.

Since you’ve been hired by Stark you’ve spent a substantial part of your down time thinking about Bucky’s metal arm. At first it was purely scientific, wondering how heavy it was and how the internal mechanism operated. After you saw Bucky shirtless for the first time, though, your thoughts went a tad towards the gutter. You wondered if the plates would cut at your skin and more…tender…places, if it made noises when Bucky was working it especially hard.

In particular, you dedicated a considerable part of your brain to pondering whether the arm overheated, or if it had some way to keep itself from burning the flesh of whomever is blessed enough to be on the receiving end of its touch.

Now you know the metal remains whatever temperature Bucky wishes for it to be – or whatever Natasha tells him to change it to. The setting for the night seems to be a few degrees below room temperature, not so freezing as to hurt you but cold enough to leave a trail of goosebumps wherever the metal appendage makes contact with your skin.

With your entire body on fire, Bucky moves to rub at your neglected clit with a cool thumb, such an expected sensation forcing an unexpected but not unwelcome incredibly powerful climax. The man under you moans nearly as loud as you, but his sound much more desperate.

You nearly fall over as you finish for…you don’t even know the number. Climbing off of Bucky seems to be the hardest feat of the night, with your injuries and sore limbs and _aching_ core. 

As soon as your back hits the bed and you’ve officially tapped out, Bucky moves closer to Natasha - kissing at her inner thighs before slipping three of his vibranium fingers into her own wet heat. She _mms_ happily, dopey grin spreading across her face as she fucks herself on her boyfriend’s hand.

“So good for Mommy,” she coos. “So, _so_ good for me.”

She cums easily once, then twice, each time a low, steady heat flows through your veins. Though neither one of them touches you, somehow you feel yourself on the brink of another sweet release.

It’s not until you look to Bucky that you feel anything other than complete euphoria. Bucky’s cock is hard as a diamond, and redder than his ass. It looks… _painful_ , and twangs of pity tug at your rapidly beating heart.

“Oh,” Natasha rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry about him dear. This is exactly what he deserves.”

With that she leads Bucky to the floor by the collar you’d forgotten he’d had on, placing on a small throw that had fallen from the bed. She crawls down on the floor with him, balancing on her knees with her back straightened while Bucky hunches over. She may be taller than her standing up, but there’s no way he’d allow himself to be above her here, now, in this place, in private.

“Take it like a big boy, baby,” Natasha tells him, leaving small kisses on the sides of his mouth and along his eyebrows. “Make Mommy proud, show me how much pain you’re willing to take for me.”

He mumbles something low to her, something you assume is Russian by the accented whispers. When she releases him, he sinks to the ground, body curling up into itself as he shuts his eyes.

Bucky falls asleep on the ground, rock hard and aching with the cock ring on his dick and the collar around his neck. The lights turn off with a snap of Natasha’s perfectly painted nails like you’re in some perfectly-paced action movie, the darkness enveloping you as suddenly as you realize Bucky still hasn’t come that night.

Natasha seems to read your mind, tsking as she pulls you closer. “Don’t worry about him, _libchen_. This is his punishment, and he will go through with it.”

You nod silently, noting Bucky’s already fallen asleep with his face pressed against the soft carpet. With that, you allow the fatigue from your injury and the night’s activities


End file.
